


Three Times Manpain Struck Maedhros ( And One Time It Didn't.)

by havisham



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, M/M, Manpain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-16
Updated: 2011-08-16
Packaged: 2017-10-22 16:56:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well, <i>The Silmarillion</i> is really just one long exercise in manpain. (Elfpain? Well, I suppose you have Turin in there too. So, manpain.) And Maedhros is the most likely to be struck down by it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Times Manpain Struck Maedhros ( And One Time It Didn't.)

**Author's Note:**

> One of my earlier attempts at Silmarillion fic! And it shows, I suppose.

**One.**

The dreams never stopped, not even on the days he would collapse in exhaustion, drained by training, and the pain that still lingered. And then he was back there, back in Angband. Hopeless and afraid. Pain unceasing, his body pushed to the very point of breaking and healed -- only to be broken again. Again and again.

Always, Melkor -- Morgoth, truly -- would be at the edge of his vision. It’s funny that he’d never really thought of this before, but it was always clear that Manwe and Melkor were brothers.

They had the same face. They had the same smile.

(as his bones twist and break.)

Again.

 

Maedhros woke, screaming.

 ****

 **Two.**

They didn't understand, of course. His brothers, all worthy in their own ways, could look no further than their own pride. And that of their House. They could not see how the Oath and kingship could not be joined in one person. They would not see it so.

Even Maglor, ever helpful, the most compassionate of his brothers (which wasn’t saying _much_ , for Maglor could be ruthless in ways that the others could not imagine) had his doubts, though he would always wait to express them in private, a courtesy that the others did not bother to observe.

 ****

 **Three.**

Their complaints gathered, and weighted on him.

“Surely we have given enough to them? Enough to make amends?”  
“Why must we make amends? They had a chance to turn back, but they did not take it! Their thirst for revenge kept them going, I deem.”  
“Aye, and now they have the power...”  
“Have we not also suffered loses? Our little brother, our father, many of our followers. You would think those Fingolfinians were the only ones to lose what was precious to them?”  
“Why must we be forever dispossessed? Perhaps you do not have the _stomach_ for the kingship, not anymore, but I have! And I will take it if you cannot!”

It takes all of his patience to silence them.

To make them understand is beyond anything he could do.

He has not the _heart_ for it.

(And that’s the truth.)

 

 **And one time it didn't.**

“You have condemned me, you know.” Fingon’s face was uncharacteristically grave, his generous month set in a hard line.

Maedhros’ stomach turned, and anxiety flooded his mind. It was true, of course. In Beleriand, Elvish immortality meant very little, and a golden crown could easily become a gilded noose...

Fingon ignored the tense expression on Maedhros' face.

“I’m deluged,  _literally deluged_  by letters from hopeful maidens, all of whom wish for nothing less than to be a princess! At least before, I was just one of _many_ … heirs, without much hope of succession. You have made me the most eligible bachelor this side of Aman!”

Fingon’s eyes widened at this, as if he could could imagine a wall of formidable females, all determined to catch the princess’s coranet.

“Oh, is that all?” said Maedhros, relaxing back into bed.

Fingon huffed impatiently, “ _Is that all?_  It’s not just strange maidens, you know. It’s my father. He’s been dropping heavy hints about the need for heirs. Even Artanis got a word in -- she was in one of her spooky moods -- you know, where her eyes go all glazey and she mutters dark warnings about the future. She prophesied at me! I hate it when she does that.”

“What did she say?” asked Maedhros, for Artanis’ predictions were correct, more often than not.

“Something about a star of radiance that follows in my wake. Incredibly vague, and not at all helpful.” said Fingon.

“Seems clear that you are destined to reproduce, as much as it pains me to admit," said Maedhros who found that he enjoyed his cousin's evident discomfort.

Fingon groaned, and buried his head in his hands. And Maedhros, who felt more cheerful than usual, continued, “Whoever is _unfortunate_ enough to marry you will no doubt be  _very memorable_...”

(Which goes to show that, unlike Artanis, Maedhros’ foresight was very poor indeed.)


End file.
